The Seven Princesses
by Someday Sara
Summary: What do you get when you mix 3 parts ego, 96 parts attitude, and 1 part god-awful accent? A new Watson! Freshly imported from America and set in present-day, SHE'S going to be quite a handful.(A little romatic, but reassuringly MILD and TASTEFUL.)
1. London, Here I Come

I know that this type of fan fiction has been written so many times it's almost become a cliché - a girl with the last name of Watson moves to England and meets a boy with the last name of Holmes… They start solving mysteries… She asks him to the dance… Somebody makes an attempt on their lives…They fall in love at the end…. blah, blah, blah…   
  
But I had so much fun writing this story that I thought somebody else might enjoy reading it! I have changed a few things around, though. A lot of this is based on the movie "Young Sherlock Holmes," and in this story, Watson isn't as helpless or as clueless, plus Sherlock isn't quite as cold…   
  
Also, please forgive me for giving Watson my first name - I couldn't resist!   
  
  
So, imagine that Doyle never wrote his Sherlock Holmes stories…   
Now imagine that Sherlock Holmes lived in the twenty-first century…   
Now imagine that he's a teenager…   
  
  
  
"We're moving?" I gasped, and dropped my glasses. "We're moving … to ENGLAND?"   
  
Mom and Dad nodded. "I've got a great new job there," Mom said, "We'll be able to live in a much nicer house."   
  
"And my company has agreed to transfer me," Dad said. "Pick up your glasses."   
  
I obeyed. We're moving, I thought. To England. No more hot dogs, or ball games, or apple pie. Everyone running around drinking tea and calling each other bloody swankers. Or something like that.   
  
Then my parents dropped the real bomb. "PRIVATE SCHOOL?" I yelled.   
  
"Isn't it nice we can afford it?" Mom asked.   
  
"No! It's not! Not only do I have to go to school in a different country, I'll have to do it in a PLEATED SKIRT AND BLOUSE!" I stormed away to my room.   
  
"It can't be that bad!" Dad called upstairs.   
  
"Wanna bet?" I asked the girl in my mirror. She scowled, wrinkled her blue-gray eyes, and pushed her glasses further up her nose. Which, by the way, was much too big for her face. A tangled mat of almost-blond hair added insult to injury.   
  
I sighed and grabbed a brush from my night stand. "Why," I said, yanking at my hair, which stubbornly refused to yield, "Do I have to move? Not just down the street. Not just across town. Not even to a different state. To. England."   
  
I put the brush down. "I know I'm going to hate it." The girl in the mirror nodded in agreement.   
  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
London.   
  
And yes, I was in a pleated skirt and blouse. I clutched my notebook to my chest and hurried up the street. I didn't want to be late for my first day of school - in October. My parents didn't even have the decency to move in time for school. I would have to start late. The new kid. Ugh.   
  
At the bus stop, there was already one boy waiting. His back pack was slung over one shoulder and he held a thick text book and a violin case at his side. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and a very chiseled nose. His hazel eyes turned to meet mine as I came towards him.   
  
I stopped running, caught my breath, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "Hi, Sara Watson," I said, and extended my hand. The boy shook it. "Sherlock Holmes," he said without smiling, and looked me over from head to toe. I blushed, then broke the silence. "I'm new at Hopkins. Who do you have for AP Chem? Maybe we're in the same class."   
  
Sherlock Holmes looked into my face, startled. "What did you say?"   
  
I blushed again, nervous. "You do go to Hopkins, don't you? You've got the crest on your jacket. And you're carrying a really thick chem book, which means you're probably taking advanced placement chemistry."   
  
Sherlock nodded. "Or, as you call it in the U.S., AP Chem."   
  
"Right. Is my accent that bad you can tell?"   
  
"Exactly." He gave me a very calculating look. "You figured all that out by yourself?"   
  
I shrugged. "Yeah, so?"   
  
"Figuring things out is a hobby of mine." He paused. "You're fourteen years old, a bright student, and have moved to England within this week. You listen to music on a portable discman, play the flute, wear glasses because you're nearsighted, like to eat pastries for breakfast, and stubbed your toe upon leaving your house this morning."   
  
"How did you know that?" I asked, incredulous.   
  
Sherlock was saved from answering by the arrival of the school bus. He boarded and I scrambled behind him. A very pretty girl at the back of the bus waved to Sherlock, and he sat beside her, smiling and talking.   
  
I slid into a seat near the front. Weird kid, I thought to myself. Wonder how he knew about the discman. I took it out and slid the headphones over my ears. I sighed. Well, here we go: English Private School - Day One.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"Class, we have a new student," Ms. Rogers said, gripping my shoulders uncomfortably. I tried to smile, but the sea of unfamiliar faces overwhelmed me. "This is Sara Watson, who just moved here from America!"   
  
"Go home, Yank!" Someone called from the back of the room. I blushed.   
  
"Alex, that was uncalled for," Ms. Rogers said. Then she smiled. "Would you like to tell us a little about yourself, Sara?"   
  
No. No I would not! I'd rather have a root canal right about now! I'll never talk! Never!   
  
"Um, I moved here from New Hampshire," I said shyly. "I, um, I play the flute and I like to read and write."   
  
"That's great!" Ms. Rogers said, just a little too loud. I could have barfed. Or died. The latter seemed more appealing at the moment. I tried to slide from her superhuman grasp but she held me in place.   
  
"Let's see. Sara needs a lab partner. Mr. Holmes, I don't believe you have a partner."   
  
Sherlock looked up from his chemistry book. "But Ms. Rogers, I prefer to work alo- "   
  
"Nonsense!" Ms. Rogers said cheerfully. "Sara will be your partner for the rest of the year. I expect you'll help her catch up with the rest of the class…" Her voice went dangerously low. "Won't you?"   
  
"Yes ma'am." Holmes' eyes narrowed but he went to the back of the room and dragged another stool over. I walked back to the last lab station, and dropped my back pack at my feet.   
  
"Thanks," I said, taking the stool and sliding it under me. Sherlock resumed his study of his chemistry book without saying a word.   
  
Holmes never looked up from the book, and yet whenever the teacher called on him, he had the right answer. It was really unnerving.   
  
"Now," Ms. Rogers said at last, "Who can tell me the affects of catalase on hydrogen peroxide?"   
  
I timidly raised my hand.   
  
"Miss Watson!" Ms. Rogers said gleefully.   
  
"Catalase is an enzyme," I said, "Which means it breaks the H2O2 down into H2O, water, and O2, oxygen."   
  
"That's correct," Ms. Rogers shouted, triumphantly. Sherlock looked up from his book. I gave him a small smile, but he rolled his eyes and turned the page.   
  
"Why, then, does a potato have this affect on hydrogen peroxide? Mr. Holmes?"   
  
"Potatoes contain large amounts of catalase," he said without looking up. Right then, the bell rang.   
  
"We'll all be doing a lab tomorrow on the affects of catalase!" Ms. Rogers screamed over the hubbub of collecting books.   
  
My lab partner got up to leave. "Wait, Sherlock," I said, tugging at his sleeve. "Please, can you tell me where…" I glanced at my schedule, "Mr. Halbert's room is? Room 322?"   
  
"You have Mr. Halbert for math?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
Sherlock sighed. "Me too. Come one, then."   
  
I followed him out of the classroom. "I'm really sorry you got stuck with me as a lab partner and all," I raised my voice over the hustle and bustle of the hallway.   
  
"It's all right," he said. "It's not your fault." He emphasized the "your".   
  
"Okay, great. The first kid my age I meet decides to take offense at me. Just great."   
  
"I don't take offense at you." Sherlock turned a corner quickly, and I fought the constant stream of kids to follow him.   
  
"Then why are you so prickly?" I said, stumbling behind him.   
  
"Because I'm not the kind of person you want to be around."   
  
"Oh, really?" I said out loud, then muttered under my breath. "Brits. They're all crazy."   
  
"Maybe I do take offense at you," Sherlock shot back.   
  
"What do you guys put in all that tea, anyway?" I asked as he opened the door to 322.   
  
"Same thing you put in your coffee. Three parts ego, ninety six parts attitude, and one part god-awful accent."   
  
"Oh, you're riot. A real riot. Did you think that one up yourself?"   
  
"As a matter of fact, I did." Sherlock found his seat and I stormed to the front of the room to introduce myself to the teacher.   
  
"Yes… w-well…" Mr. Halbert said. His liver spots accented his network of veins nicely, I thought. "Y-you s-sit here and we'll get you a b-book…"   
  
I found my seat and the geometry book underneath.   
  
"T-turn… to page si-si-si-si-sixty, six, class…"   
  
I sighed. Not only was math my least favorite subject, now I had Moses's grandfather teaching it. What a snore. Literally.   
  
I felt myself being jolted back to reality by the scraping of desks and gathering of books. To my surprise, Sherlock was standing over me with a sarcastic sneer and my schedule. "Let me guess. Mr. Donneley's Literature Class. What an unpleasant coincidence."   
  
I groaned and snatched the paper from his hands. Another class with this kid? "Imagine my joy," I retorted. But I got up and followed him dutifully.   
  
Once in the classroom, I chose a seat as far a way from Sherlock as possible.   
  
"Good morning class," Mr. Donnelley said as he strode in.   
  
I almost fell off my chair. My English teacher was … gorgeous. He was tall, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. His black eyes glittered and his perfectly tan skin practically shone. His sense of style was just right, too. Shiny black shoes, gray slacks, a white collared shirt and a sweater vest. I could have died.   
  
"Ah, a new student," he said, noticing me. He walked to my desk and took my hand. "And your name is?"   
  
Name? What name? …Did anyone ever tell you your eyes are like the night sky?   
  
No! Wake up stupid! WAKE UP!   
  
"S-Sara Watson," I mumbled.   
  
"Enchanted, Miss Watson." He shook my hand and handed me a book. I blushed.   
  
"Thanks," I whispered. Mr. Donnelley grinned his perfect white teeth at me. That's it. I've died and gone to heaven…   
  
I looked at the book in my hand. "Logic Puzzles, 33rd Edition"   
  
"Today we're continuing our study of mind games - thinking outside," Mr. Donelley moved his hands through the air, "The box. Turn to page 45 and read the puzzle there, please. Now, everyone!"   
  
There was a scuffle of flipping pages. I found my place and started to read: On Sunday, October 5, Mr. Johnson lies murdered on the floor of his study. His wife claims she was upstairs reading. The maid says she was dusting the mantelpiece in the living room. The gardener insisted he was in the shed oiling his clippers. The butler announced he had gone to get the mail.   
  
"So, class, to coin a phrase: who done it?" Mr. Donneley grinned again.   
  
Two hands shot in the air. Mine, and Sherlock's.   
  
"Yes, we all know you know the answer, Mr. Holmes. Put your hand down."   
  
Sherlock glowered.   
  
"Miss Watson? Who do you think?"   
  
Eyes… beautiful eyes… huh? Oh, yeah - "The butler," I said, triumphantly.   
  
The room filled with snickers. I frowned.   
  
"Why the butler?" my drop-dead-gorgeous teacher asked.   
  
"Because," I said, "The mail doesn't come on Sundays."   
  
Mr. Donnelley and Sherlock stared, so I avoided their gazes. "At least," I said, "Not in America."   
  
"That's… correct." Mr. Donnelley smiled. "Next page, if you will."   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
I wasn't sure if I was surprised or please when at lunch, Sherlock Holmes came and sat across from me.   
  
"What is it with you?" I asked. "You told me to avoid you and now I can't!"   
  
"You…" Sherlock said, "You've got, how do they say it? Spunk."   
  
"Spunk. Great." I toyed with the school salad, which looked a little rubbery. "I thought you said you're not the kind of person I want to be around."   
  
"I'm starting to think I'm wrong," he said. "Tell me. Look at me and tell me what you see."   
  
I raised my eyebrows. "I see a boy who's lost his mind. Excuse me." I got up to leave.   
  
"No, stay!" Sherlock caught my hand. Startled, I looked first at his hand, then his face. A distant part of my brain flicked on. He's cute… I thought.   
  
"Remember this morning, when you figured out I went to this school? And that I was taking AP Chem? Do that again. What else can you tell?"   
  
I paused for a moment. "You write with your left hand."   
  
"Excellent! How did you know?"   
  
I sat back down. "Even though you caught me with your right hand just now, the middle finger of your left hand has a callous where your pen rubs."   
  
Sherlock Holmes grinned. "Tell me, Watson," he said after a moment. "How do you feel about solving mysteries?" 


	2. My Friend, Sherlock Holmes

"What?"   
  
"You know," Sherlock said. "Crimes. Murder. Robbery. All that fun stuff."   
  
That's it! He's crazy!   
  
"Um, I gotta go," I said hurriedly and picked up my lunch tray. Sherlock put his hand on mine, again.   
  
"No, Watson, it's not like that." His voice was incredibly soothing. "I just like to read about mysteries, that's all. You know, detective novels. You seemed like the kind of person who would like them, too."   
  
"Oh." Great comeback, Sara. Just great.   
  
"Do you ever read any Agatha Christie?"   
  
"No. No, I haven't…"   
  
"I would highly recommend her," Sherlock said, standing and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Bell."   
  
He was right. At that exact moment the bell rang. "Let me guess," Sherlock said, watching me dig through my bag for my schedule. "Mrs. Fernadez's history class."   
  
I made a face. "Yep."   
  
"This way."   
  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"Shootshootshootshootshoot!" I dashed out of the school library, trying to keep hold on everything. My backpack was sliding down my shoulders. My flute case threatened to drop from sweaty fingers. My hand wasn't big enough to hold all three Agatha Christie novels, and my glasses dangled threateningly along the edge of my nose.   
  
And I was just in time to be too late.   
  
I groaned as the bus pulled around the corner. Now what was I going to do? I supposed I better call home and have my mother come pick me up. Then I realized with a panic - I didn't know my own phone number! Mentally kicking myself for not bothering to memorize it, I didn't notice Sherlock walk up beside me until he said -   
  
"It's not a long walk."   
  
I jumped. "Oh, you again."   
  
He grinned and helped me shoulder my pack. I pushed my glasses back into their proper place and sighed. "Thanks. Which way? You know, I'm getting tired of following you around all the time."   
  
Sherlock laughed. "Don't you think I get tired of being followed? It's like having a puppy."   
  
"One that bites," I muttered as we started to walk.   
  
"You were awfully quick with that logic puzzle in Literature," Sherlock commented.   
  
I scuffled my feet along the pavement. "Wasn't it obvious?"   
  
"Yes, it was, but not many people think so."   
  
We walked in silence for a few minutes. "Which house do you live in?" Sherlock said at last.   
  
I thought for a moment. "Seventh one down the block. It's red."   
  
Sherlock nodded. "I live on the third house. It's blue. Have you started to learn the names of the streets yet?"   
  
"No," I moaned. "I'm still trying to learn the names of everything else. A flashlight is a torch. The trunk of a car is a boot. The bathroom is the water closet…." I trailed off, muttering about tea.   
  
He had to laugh. "Spoken like true American. So young, yet so self-centered."   
  
"I resent that." I stopped at the curb and looked both ways. We waited until the cars had passed. "So," I asked, "Got any brothers or sisters?"   
  
"An older brother Myron and a younger sister Colleen. How about you?"   
  
I shook my head. "I'm an only child." I sighed, then grinned. "Oh, now I recognize where we are!"   
  
"Yes, you can see your house from here. Well, this is my flat. Until tomorrow, Watson." Sherlock took a key from his pocket and let himself into his house.   
  
"Yeah, bye." I turned on my heels and continued to my house. But I couldn't shake the fact that I had a funny feeling about that boy…   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
  
"Good morning, Watson." Holmes said without turning around.   
  
"I doubt it," I brushed some water out of my eyes. "Scooch over."   
  
Holmes obediently held the umbrella out a little farther. I slid up next to him. "Don't you have your own umbrellas?" he asked.   
  
"Are you kidding? My whole house is boxes, boxes, boxes. I can't find toothpaste, let alone an umbrella."   
  
Holmes laughed. "And of course, this is the day the bus is late. It always is on rainy days."   
  
"Great." I took off my glasses and tried to wipe them dry. I only succeeded in smudging the water around. I sighed.   
  
We stood in silence until the bus came. Holmes let me go first, then folded the umbrella behind me. The pretty girl at the back of the bus glared at me. If looks could kill…   
  
I sat down quickly. Holmes walked up the aisle and paused at my seat.   
  
"Sherlock!" The pretty girl batted her eyes and waved. Holmes looked at me but I stared defiantly out the window. He walked to sit with the other girl.   
  
Of course, I thought as I wrung out my hair. He's handsome, she's pretty, and me? I glanced at my near transparent reflection in the window. I sighed.   
  
English Private School - Day Two. In science, I spilled hydrogen peroxide all down the front of my shirt. Holmes handed me a towel. In math, I got every single one of the homework problems wrong. Holmes laughed at my indignant mutterings. In history, I fell asleep. Guess who woke me up? In English, I was so transfixed by Mr. Donnelley that I missed my chair and crashed to the floor. And at lunch, I slipped on a wet patch of floor and tossed my lunch everywhere. Holmes picked me up and pulled a piece of lettuce out of my hair.   
  
"Having fun?" he asked, flicking another leaf away.   
  
"Tons," I said. For a moment, Holmes was so close, his hand in my hair. I felt the breath catch in my throat. Then he tossed the lettuce away, grinned, and the moment had passed. We sat down together.   
  
"Listen," he said, "You're doing the math all wrong."   
  
"Oh, really? Yeah, I kinda figured that out on my own…"   
  
"You don't pay enough attention to the order of operations, and you've been using the wrong formula for slope."   
  
"Right." I nodded, like I knew what he was talking about.   
  
Sherlock shrugged. "I could help you, you know."   
  
"A tutor? No, thanks." I rolled my eyes.   
  
"Fine. Fail math." He got up to leave.   
  
"No no no wait! I changed my mind. I'd lo… I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me out."   
  
Holmes smiled. "Do you want to come to my house after school?"   
  
I winced. "Uh-oh."   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"My parents," I said, "live in the stone age. They wouldn't let me go to your house! A, I barely know you and they don't know you at all, and B, you're a … a boy."   
  
"Brilliant deduction, Watson."   
  
"Oh be quiet. To my parents, it makes a world of difference. But you know what? They'd probably let you come to my house."   
  
"Okay then," he said, "I'll come."   
  
We walked to our next class together.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
  
I managed not to miss the bus. Sherlock and I walked out of school next to each other, only to be interrupted by the pretty girl from before.   
  
"Hello, Sherlock," she said, with a smile.   
  
"Hello, Mari," Sherlock grinned. "Please, allow me to introduce my new neighbor, Sara Watson."   
  
"Charmed," the girl shook my hand just a little too hard.   
  
"Watson, this is Marianne Cuttinghall, captain of the fencing team."   
  
"Hi," I said, and attempted a smile. She nodded, curtly.   
  
"Won't you sit with me on the bus today, Sherlock?" Marianne purred.   
  
"Well, actually, I had pla - "   
  
"That's all right, Holmes," I said, desperate to make peace. "I'll see you later."   
  
He nodded and they boarded the bus ahead of me. "Since when do you need HER permission…" I heard Marianne whisper.   
  
I growled under my breath and found a seat up front. Not good, I thought to myself. It's definitely not a good idea to make an enemy out of the captain of the fencing team… a fiend with a foil…. I chuckled at my joke.   
  
The bus pulled up to my corner and Holmes and I got off.   
  
"So, do you fence?" I asked him.   
  
"I do indeed." He dropped his violin and pointed the umbrella at me. "En guard!" he said.   
  
"I must warn you, kemosabe," I said, dropping my stuff and assuming a karate pose. "I have been trained in the fine art of kicking butt."   
  
Sherlock laughed and lunged at me with the umbrella. I knocked it away and chopped towards his throat. He hit my arm to the side and lodged the umbrella under my chin.   
  
"Touche!" he cried, with a touch of smugness.   
  
"Not for long!" I grabbed the umbrella with both hands and twisted. It came loose into my grasp. I flipped it around and jabbed it at his belly.   
  
"Toooo-shay, to you, too!" I said.   
  
"Okay, okay," Holmes said, with his hands in the air. "It's a tie. Let's get you home before you're parents realize you've been flirting."   
  
I gaped. "I am not flirting!" I said, indignant. I threw the umbrella at his face. He caught it as I picked up my stuff.   
  
"Yes, you are." Holmes laughed and followed me to my house.   
  
"Am not."   
  
"Are too."   
  
"Am not."   
  
"Are t - "   
  
"Enough! All I want is a little help with my math."   
  
"Fine," Holmes submitted as I opened the door.   
  
I picked my way around the boxes. "Moooooo---ooom! I'm home! I want you to meet a friend from school!"   
  
Holmes shut the door behind me and turned to meet my mother. She clambered down the stairs.   
  
"Mom, this is Sherlock Holmes," I said.   
  
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Watson," Holmes extended his hand.   
  
"Please, call me Esmerelda," she said as she pumped his hand up and down. Rather violently, actually.   
  
Holmes blinked. "Um, okay… Esmerelda."   
  
I interrupted. "Mom, Sherlock said he'd help me with my math homework. Is that okay?"   
  
"Yes, deerie," Mom said, "That's fine. I'll be upstairs unpacking."   
  
"Come, on, Holmes." I pulled on his arm and dragged him to the kitchen.   
  
"Esmerelda?" he asked, appalled. "Esmerelda …Watson?"   
  
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "I know, I know. Listen, you want a soda or something?" 


	3. The Adventure Begins...

"Good morning, Watson."   
  
"Morning. Thanks for your help last night."   
  
"No problem. You learn fast, you know."   
  
"I know." I blew on my fingers and rubbed them on my shirt. Holmes chuckled. The bus pulled up and we both clambered inside. I chose my regular seat, and was surprised when Holmes sat next to me.   
  
"Whoahwhoahwhoah." I threw up my hands. "Hadn't you better sit with your girlfriend?"   
  
"Girlfriend?" Holmes asked.   
  
"Yeah. AnneMarie. Fencing team girl."   
  
"Marianne." Holmes corrected. "And she's not my girlfriend. Just thinks she is."   
  
"She's not? Still," I protested. "I don't want to make the girl with the sword angry."   
  
Holmes laughed. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."   
  
I turned to face him and put my hands on my hips. "Since when do I need protecting?"   
  
"You're right. You don't." We grinned at each other. Then Holmes coughed and we both looked away, quickly. But from that moment on we were best friends.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
At last! The auditorium!   
  
I had managed to sneak away from the hustle towards the cafeteria and wandered around until I found the stage. And just my luck! It was empty!   
  
I practically ran up the rows of seats and stomped on to the stage. I dragged a music stand over, put my latest piece on it, and unpacked my flute. Humming, I put it together and played a tentative "A". Flat. Ick. I adjusted the head joint and tried again. Muuuuuuuch better.   
  
I took my glasses off and put them on the edge of the stand. I wasn't that nearsighted that I couldn't see the music, and besides, I practically knew this piece by heart.   
  
I started to play. My sound filled the entire room, reverberating off the walls echoing slightly. I moved by body in time to the music, enjoying the melancholy tune. I was perfect - not once did I squeak of fuzz… just pure sound.   
  
I held the last note longer than humanly possible, then closed my eyes and listened to the echo. Content to the last drop, I sighed.   
  
Someone applauded. I jumped and my eyes flew open. I desperately scrambled for my glasses. I hadn't seen anyone come in…   
  
As I jammed my spectacles onto my nose, Holmes was thrown into definition. I blushed and began to take my flute apart.   
  
"No, no. That was great!" Holmes said, not bothering to hide the awe from his voice.   
  
I looked down. "I - I studied privately in the States."   
  
"I could tell," Holmes stood and picked up his violin case. "Mind if I join you?"   
  
"Not at all!" I said, delighted.   
  
Holmes hurried up the steps and kneeled to unpack his violin. Tightening his bow and rubbing rosin on it, he asked me then name of the piece.   
  
"Haru Nu Umi," I said, taking off my glasses again. "It's Japanese. But isn't violin music different?"   
  
"I can transpose. Play your A," Holmes commanded, straightening up with the violin tucked under his chin. I obeyed. Holmes fiddled with his strings, adjusting, then nodded.   
  
I started to play, and a measure later Holmes entered. If I had thought I sounded good before, it was nothing compared to this.   
  
Holmes was a flawless sight-reader. He hit trills it had taken me weeks to learn. His lips tightened into a small frown as his fingers slid with a rapidity that made me jealous. We were perfectly in tune, I thought the whole auditorium would collapse from our sound.   
  
As we approached the end of the piece, Holmes caught my eye. We held the last note together for as long as I could last. He grinned and nodded, and I cut my sound. A fading echo of violin and flute came back to tease us…   
  
Someone applauded again. We both jumped and looked to the left. Mr. Donnelley emerged from the shadows of backstage, still applauding.   
  
"That was amazing, you two," he said. Holmes smiled. I looked at the floor. Mr. Donnelley clapped our shoulders. "You guys make quite a team."   
  
We muttered our thanks, and Mr. Donnelley left. I started to put my flute away. "Watson and Holmes," I said. "It's got a ring to it."   
  
"Holmes and Watson."   
  
I shook my head. "Uh-uh. Watson and Holmes!"   
  
"Holmes! and! - "   
  
"Ladies first!"   
  
"No way!" he gave me a play full shove.   
  
"Yes way!" I shoved him back.   
  
At that minute, the bell rang. We both sighed and collected our things. "Math?" I asked.   
  
"Math. You'll do fine."   
  
"I know," I said as we walked off the stage. "All the same, want to come over this afternoon?"   
  
"I'd love too."   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"Good morning, Watson. Lose your glasses?"   
  
"Nope!" I gave my head a super model shake. "Mom let me buy contact lenses. What do you think?" Grinning, I looked Holmes straight in the face.   
  
To my surprise, he blushed. "Y-you look v-very nice," he stammered and looked away.   
  
Uncomfortable, we waited in silence for the bus.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"You. New girl."   
  
I turned around. I'd started to learn it wasn't usually an insult. Most people just didn't know my name. But in this case, it was an insult.   
  
Marianne put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "I want you," she pointed at me. "To stay a-way," she pointed out the door. "From my," she pointed at herself. "Man."   
  
I bit back a chuckle. "I'm really sorry you," I pointed at her. "Feel that way. But I'm not trying to steal your guy. Really. Holmes has just been nice, you know, showing me the ropes."   
  
"The what?"   
  
"The ropes. You know, where the grocery store is, how to get to school…"   
  
"That better be all, or you'll be sorry." Marianne turned her back on me.   
  
I felt a rush of anger. I could understand her concern, but who was she to dictate what I could or couldn't do?   
  
"That's all it is right now…" I said, smugly.   
  
Marianne turned back. I flicked a strand of hair from my face and turned on my heels.   
  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
I groaned and cussed under my breath as the busses pulled away. I considered my options. I could scream and wave my arms and run after them, or I could…   
  
Holmes peeled himself from a tree. "I was waiting for you," he said.   
  
I opened my mouth to say something snippy, then closed it. "Thanks," I said.   
  
We started to walk. "I don't think Marianne likes me very much."   
  
Holmes frowned. "Watson… um, Sara… I have to ask you som - "   
  
"Eww! Look out!" I said. Holmes stopped abruptly. I pointed to the ground. "Who'd be stupid enough to leave red paint on the sidewalk?"   
  
Holmes knelt swiftly and peered at the red splotch on the ground. He ran a finger across the stain and gasped. "Watson, that's not paint…" he said softly, " …that's blood." 


	4. Blood

"For goodness sake, Holmes, why would it be on the school sidewalks? Are you sure it's blood?"   
  
"I'm positive!" Holmes said, vehemently. "It's blood, freshly spattered..." Then he looked up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk about..."   
  
"Blood? In front of a lady?" I mocked him. "Oh, come on. I'm not one to go squeamish."   
  
"Good." Holmes said, standing. He dusted his hands off and looked carefully around the school. "Watson, we're going to see my older brother Myron."   
  
"Why?"   
  
Holmes took my hand, something that surprised me. "He works for Scotland Yard. Let's go."   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
I stood in the back of Myron's office, feeling slightly out of place.   
  
"But I'm certain of it!" Holmes was saying. "Listen, this could all fit into the pattern!"   
  
"Of your vanishing females?" Myron asked without looking up. "Really, Sherry, that's too much. Teenage girls run away from home all the time."   
  
"But there have been FIVE in the last five months. June 5th, July 5th, August 4th -"   
  
"Enough, Sherry!" Myron sorted through some paper work on his desk. "Some stray runaways and red paint. That's not a crime. Not even a mystery. Go do your homework with your nice friend."   
  
"Don't. Call. Me. Sherry. And it WAS blood."   
  
Myron chuckled. "Mm-hm. Just like last time?"   
  
"I've learned my lesson, okay?" Holmes sounded peeved.   
  
"Sherlock," Myron set down his papers and looked him straight in the face. "There's no doubt in my mind that you believe that you actually saw blood. But I'm overworked as it is and I can't spare the time to check. Go home."   
  
Holmes snarled, turned on his heels and walked out. Feeling uncomfortable, I waved slightly to Myron and left.   
  
"Holmes, what's this all about?" I demanded as we exited the police station.   
  
He took a deep breath. "For the last five months there have been young girls disappearing. The first was June 5th, then July 5th, then August 4th, September 2nd, and finally October 2nd. All of the girls disappeared from this neighborhood. And that wasn't the first time I've found traces of blood."   
  
I shivered. "That's frightening," I said, and found his hand again.   
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."   
  
"Are you kidding, Holmes? I'm made of stronger stuff. I'll be fine." We walked in silence.   
  
Then I laughed. "Nice try. I just remembered."   
  
"Remembered what?"   
  
"It's Halloween."   
  
Holmes frowned. "But I'm serious..."   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
Mr. Donnelley smiled at me. "Good work," he said as he handed back my paper. I glanced at it - A+! Yes! Yesyesyesyesyes! Who's the girl? Who's the girl?   
  
Across the room Sherlock frowned. I held up my paper. He sighed and held up his. Holmes got a C+? But we had worked on these papers together!   
  
Now I frowned. Holmes shrugged. I tipped my head to the side. He shook his head. I put my chin in my hand and pretended to write on my desk. Holmes looked appalled and shook his head again. I raised my eyebrows, frowning. Holmes rolled his eyes.   
  
Some of the kids in the class stared, but most have gotten used to our unspoken conversation. Here's what we really said:   
  
Me: That's not fair!   
Holmes: I don't care.   
Me: Are you mad at me?   
Holmes: No.   
Me: Are you going to revise your paper for extra credit?   
Holmes: No way!   
Me: You should!   
Holmes: Oh, go on. You and Mr. Donnelley.   
  
I sighed and looked up. Mr. Donnelley had been watching us, torn between being amused or being bewildered. I blushed.   
  
The bell rang and I met Holmes at the door.   
  
"Holmes! Watson!" Mr. Donnelley called. We turned around.   
  
"As I said before," Mr. Donnelley laughed. "You two make quite a team."   
  
We smiled and turned back to leave, but something caught my eye. I grabbed Holmes' arm and pointed to the doorframe. Holmes turned white.   
  
Blood. On the door.   
  
We couldn't help it, we turned back around to look at Mr. Donnelley. The laughter was gone from his face. He took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something...   
  
Holmes pulled me out of the classroom. We ran one hallway, then another, until we had put as much distance between us and Mr. Donnelley as we could.   
  
We stopped abruptly, and hunched over panting. When my heart stopped freaking out, I looked up at Holmes and straightened my back.   
  
"Watson," Holmes took a step forward. "Promise me..." he paused. "Promise me you'll never, ever be alone with that man."   
  
"Holmes, really," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "We don't know that even was bl-"   
  
"Promise me," Holmes pleaded.   
  
"Holmes, be reasonable. He probably didn't have anything to do wi-"   
  
Holmes grabbed the collar of my shirt and threw me back against the wall. "Promise me!" he yelled, his hands shaking.   
  
I gulped, my eyes wide with surprise. "I - I promise." 


	5. Murder

Holmes and I both missed the bus. But this time I didn't even groan.   
  
"Hey, where does he live?" I asked as we walked along. Holmes knew which "he" I was talking about.   
  
"Outside of London."   
  
We considered this in silence. Holmes took an odd turn, and I knew what he was doing - avoiding the bloodstain. As much as I am un-squeamish, I was glad.   
  
I glanced around at the unfamiliar buildings on the other side of the school. Then Holmes touched my arm. "Do you hear that?"   
  
"Hear what?" I strained my ears.   
  
"This way," Holmes strode away.   
  
I hurried to follow, and slowly, I began to hear it too - a pulsing drumbeat. Two quick beats, one long one, then a rapid thumping, repeated over and over again. Holmes stopped at the door of a warehouse, and put his ear against the wall. Holmes nodded. "It's coming from here."   
  
He put his hand on the door and opened it slowly.   
  
"Holmes!" I said savagely, but quietly. "You can't do that!"   
  
"Why not? Are you coming?"   
  
"Of course I'm coming. But just for the record, I warned you!" We stepped inside and Holmes slid the door closed.   
  
The inside of the warehouse was dark, and murky. It was empty, and the only light shone in from dingy windows high above our heads. I shivered.   
  
Then Holmes pointed. The ware house wasn't empty, after all. Straight in front of us, on the barren floor, was a hole. We inched closer and discovered a stair case leading down. Holmes took my hand and we began to walk down it.   
  
The inside of the stairs was dark, and it led down for what seemed like forever. The strange drumbeats kept getting louder, and louder. I smiled in the darkness, in spite of myself. An adventure! How exciting!   
  
The stairs twisted to the right and an empty door frame was filled with a soft, glowing light. The drumbeats were so loud...   
  
We crept forward. One of the boards beneath my feet groaned, and I froze. I listened intently, but nothing happened. After a moment I found the corage to take a step into the door.   
  
Holmes and I couldn't help it. We gasped.   
  
Just outside the doorway, a wooden platform with a railing ran all the way around a huge underground room. On the other side of where we stood, another stair ran down to the ground of this strange place. Thousands of candles were lit, suspended from huge, circular candelabras and stuck into the walls below. The walls were covered in what looked like golden hyroglyphs that sparkled in the flickering light. As the drums pounded into our ears and into our hearts, we peered over the edge of the railing.   
  
I gasped again, and Holmes elbowed me. Fifty feet below us, hundreds of people dressed in black robes all faced an intricate alter. These people's heads had been shaved and from far away they all looked the same. Their hands were tucked into their long, draping sleeves, and each one of them had a vicious looking sword strung at their waist.   
  
Slowly, they began to chant. It started out as a low moaning, barely audible against the persistant drumbeats. Then they got louder, and louder, until it felt like they were shreiking in our ears. The words make no sense, it definately wasn't English.   
  
I inched closer to Holmes.   
  
(AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the next paragraph, there is a murder. I tried to make it as least graphic as I could, but if it might upset you, just skip to the next chapter. Also, I rated this story PG but if you feel this section is inappropriote, please tell me in a review.)   
  
  
  
  
  
My attention was drawn to several of the black robed people. They were the only ones moving. They were leading a teenage girl wearing a white robe and a silver crown forward to the alter. Someone raised a sword...   
  
Three voices screamed. Holmes, myself, and... 


	6. A Surprise

I've never run so fast in my life.   
  
Holmes and I burst into Myron's office white faced and gibbering.   
  
"Myron! Girl - killed- black robes!" Holmes yelled, clutching his heart.   
  
"In - warehouse!" I put both hands on his desk, panting.   
  
Holmes gasped "You - must - come! Now!"   
  
Myron stood abruptly. "What are you guys talking about?"   
  
Holmes calmed down a bit. "We - we were walking home and we heard music from this warehouse. We went to investigate -"   
  
"You WHAT?" Myron asked.   
  
Holmes continued as if he hadn't heard. "We went to investigate and there was a ... a group of people and they... murdered a young girl."   
  
Myron went white. "You guys are serious, aren't you?"   
  
I nodded, wiping tears from my eyes.   
  
"Let's go." Myron got his hat and coat and ushered us out of the office. "Mr. Peterson!" He called to one of the uniformed officers. In a whisper, he explained what we had said. Mr. Peterson took one look at the two of us and nodded.   
  
"If they're not telling the truth," Myron said, "They're darn good actors! And they didn't even know about the latest disappearance."   
  
Holmes looked at me. "Latest disappearance?" he mouthed, his eyes wide.   
  
In a whirl of activity, Holmes and I found ourselves in a police car, surrounded by officers. We pointed out the big warehouse and they pulled over. Shaking uncontrollably, we followed Myron up to the huge wooden door.   
  
Myron pounded very officially on the door. "Scotland Yard!" he called out. "Open up!"   
  
With a suspenseful creak the door slowly slid open. In an instant, I recognized that wonderfully tan skin, the dark hair, the midnight eyes...   
  
"Can I help you, officers?" Mr. Donnelley asked. 


	7. Full Moons

I gasped. I might have even screamed. All I remember is being terrified out of my wits. But I do remember saying, and I quote - "Duh-duh-duhduuuuh..."   
  
Mr. Donnelley looked concerned yet not worried about the policemen's presence. He was wiping his hands clean of paint with a small, yellow rag. "Can I help you?" he said again, cool as a cucumber.   
  
To my shame and horror, Myron told Mr. Donnelley that we had seen a murder in this very place.   
  
"A murder?" Mr. Donnelley looked confused. "Really, now, that's absurd."   
  
"May we come in?" Myron asked harshly. He still believed us! Points for Myron!   
  
"Of course." Mr. Donnelley moved aside and we all stepped in.   
  
My mouth fell open. Huge florescent lights hung from the ceiling, giving everything a cheerful glow. Several happy paintings hung finished and unfinished from the walls. One even covered an entire wall! There were ladders and paintbrushes and buckets of paint everywhere.   
  
"You see," Mr. Donnelley said. "Painting is a hobby of mine. I rent this warehouse as a studio."   
  
Myron glanced around skeptically and then examined the floor for the trap door we had told him about. The wooden beams were seamless.   
  
"Thank you," he said after a moment, and practically dragged Holmes and me outside. "I can't believe you, Sherlock," he said savagely. "That you would do something that stupid! You're obviously out of your mind! And to embarrass me like that! Oh, I ... urgh!" Myron seemed at a loss for words. He made threatening motions in the air. "Get in the car. Mom and Dad are going to hear about this!"   
  
I hung my head in shame and bit my lip but Holmes was enraged. "I'm telling the truth! We saw-"   
  
"Shut! Up!" Myron shoved us into the car.   
  
"But did you look at his clothes?" Holmes protested. "He wasn't painting, he was wearing a suit!"   
  
Myron slammed the door.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
I couldn't sleep that night.   
  
Not only was I going to be in a butt load of trouble when my parents found out where I'd been, the murder of that poor girl kept playing before my eyes. I kept hearing her scream... I shivered violently and pulled the bedclothes tighter around me.   
  
Tink!   
  
What was that? I sat bolt upright.   
  
Tink!   
  
Tink!   
  
It sounded like it was coming from my window. I crawled out of bed and stood watching. Tink! There - a stone! Tink! Another one!   
  
I opened my window and leaned out. On the street below, Holmes stood with a handful of stones. He was dressed in blue jeans and a windbreaker - obviously, he couldn't sleep, either.   
  
"Holmes!" I whispered. "What are you doing?"   
  
"Oh, good," he said quietly. "I was starting to think I was hitting the wrong window."   
  
"You can't sleep either?" I asked. Holmes shook his head mournfully. "I'll be right down," I said, and closed my window.   
  
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and jammed my feet into sneakers. Not bothering with contact lenses, I grabbed my glasses and tiptoed downstairs. I eased the door open and slid into the chilly night.   
  
Holmes and I sat on the steps. "So," he said, "Admit that it's definitely Mr. Donnelley?"   
  
I thought about that for a moment. "I don't know."   
  
"Oh, come on!" he said. "How much more evidence do you need?"   
  
I sneered at Holmes. "Geez, I'm really sorry I'm not more adept at solving murder mysteries!"   
  
"Okay, okay," he said, making soothing gestures. "Keep your voice down. I'm sorry."   
  
I sighed. "What was that under the warehouse?"   
  
Holmes shook his head. "I have no idea. It looked like a... a cult or something."   
  
Fighting to hold back tears, I whispered into the night. "I'm... I'm really scared right now. Not, not for me but for that girl, and for.. and for..."   
  
"Everyone else?" Holmes asked. "I know how you feel." A small sob escaped my lips and Holmes stiffened. After a moment he reached out an awkward hand and patted my head.   
  
I gave a tearful laugh. "Holmes, I'm not going to go all 'splaah' on you, don't worry."   
  
He managed a small grin. "I was hoping you wouldn't."   
  
"I could tell." I put my head on his shoulder and after a minute, calmed down. "That... poor girl."   
  
"Denise Reginald. The sixth missing girl in six months."   
  
We both shivered. "I... keep hearing her scream," I said, almost inaudibly.   
  
"Me too," Holmes sounded miserable. The tears welled up and I closed my eyes...   
  
  
"...Watson, wake up." Someone was shaking me gently. ...but I don't want to wake up... "Watson?" I stubbornly kept my eyes closed. ..tired... so tired. "WATSON!" Holmes' voice was loud in my ear. I jumped.   
  
"I'm up! I'm up!" I said out of breath, sitting bolt upright. Holmes took his arm from behind my back. I glanced around - the street was slowly filling with sunlight.   
  
"Oof!" I was stiff all over. "I fell asleep, didn't I?" I asked Holmes.   
  
"Yes, yes you did." He yawned. "I've got to get home so I can get ready for school..."   
  
"Holmes?" I asked, trying to keep a giggle back. "It's Saturday."   
  
"Right." Holmes sat back down. "I knew that. Listen, go back inside and meet me at my house as soon as your parents are awake. Tell them you and I are going to the library for a school project."   
  
Another adventure! Yes! I needed something to take my mind off of Mr. Donnelley. "Where are we really going?" I asked.   
  
"The library."   
  
I was disappointed. "Oh. Why?"   
  
Holmes stood and stretched. "We're going to find out what was going on down there. See you in a minute."   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
The librarians were extremely helpful with our "project" on "cults". Holmes and I staggered under the weight of an armload of books each. We found the most secluded table and set them down with a sigh.   
  
Then began the tedious task of reading... reading... reading...   
  
I put my chin in my hand and turned a page. "...in the early 1800's, being the time of the industrial revolution, manufactured cloth was considered..." I yawned. It doesn't get more boring than this.   
  
Then something caught my eye. The next chapter was called "Egyptian Cults".   
  
"Holmes!" I said. "Look at this!" He slid his chair closer and read over my shoulder.   
  
"The third cult Dih-hana," I read aloud, "Is an ancient Egyptian cult that focuses on the sacrifice of virgin Princesses. This ritual takes place once every seven years. Six Princesses are sacrificed on the day of the full moon, the seventh at midnight on the night of the last moon. The Dih-hana wear black robes and shave their heads as a symbol of death."   
  
I gulped and turned to Holmes. He stared for a moment, then was off like a shot. He returned with a huge almanac and flipped it open to the section on the moon. "I can't look," he said, shoving it under my nose. "First disappearance, June 5th."   
  
I ran my finger along the page. "Day of the full moon," I said, and bit my lip.   
  
"July 5th."   
  
"Day of the full moon," I said again.   
  
"August 4th."   
  
"The day of," I said, my heart beating a little faster.   
  
"Semptember 2nd?"   
  
I turned the page and continued reading. "The day of."   
  
"October 2nd?"   
  
"The day before!" I said.   
  
"And finally, yesterday?"   
  
"The day of the full moon," I looked Holmes in the face, fearful.   
  
"When's the next full moon?" he asked.   
  
"November 30th."   
  
I shut the almanac, fear settling into my stomach. "Do you realize what this means?"   
  
Holmes nodded. "Every young girl in London is in danger. Including you." 


	8. Fear

Fear is a funny thing. Sometimes it can consume you totally, or it can just taper off after time. And slowly, my fear began to taper off.   
  
For the first time in my life, I seriously considered cutting class. But Holmes insisted, and I walked into Literature with shaking knees. But nothing happened. Nothing happened the day after, either. Or the day after. Or the day after. And I continued to get good grades... it was strange.   
  
  
  
Once our parents had sufficiently lectured and grounded us, Holmes and I had a good time. He came to dinner at my house, where he charmed my parents, and I went to dinner at his house, where his parents charmed me. And Holmes' little sister Colleen was so cute - she's about six years old. After dinner we were all sitting in the palor talking, and Colleen came and sat in my lap and demanded I french braid her hair. Laughing, I obeyed and now she adores me.   
  
Holmes even had a birthday - he turned fifteen on November 20th.   
  
"Happy Birthday," I told Holmes at the bus stop and handed him a box. He grinned, thanked me and opened it.   
  
He pulled out the walkie talkie with a quizzical look on his face. I whipped the other one from behind my back. "Come in, Holmes" I said.   
  
"I... like it!" he said, nodding with a smile.   
  
"They're good up to a mile," I said. "These are the same ones the military uses."   
  
Holmes' mouth fell open. "They must have cost a fortune!"   
  
I shrugged. "Not really. My dad works for the company that makes them."   
  
Holmes laughed and we put the walkie talkies into our backpacks.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"shshshsptscackleWatson?"   
  
I put my book down and reached across my bed to the night stand. "What?!" I said into my walkie.   
  
"Do you know what tomorrow is? Over."   
  
"No." I yawned.   
  
"The 30th. Over."   
  
I sat bolt upright. "Oh, my gosh," I said. "I'd forgotten."   
  
Holmes sounded ashamed. "Can you believe it? So had I. Over."   
  
"What are we going to do?"   
  
"What can we do? Over."   
  
"We've got to rescue her, who ever she is. No one else would believe us."   
  
Holmes sounded frightened. "That would be almost impossible. And wouldn't Mr. D be expecting us? Over."   
  
"Do you have a better idea?" I asked snappishly.   
  
"Wouldn't it be better if we just stopped him from kidnapping her? Over."   
  
"Can you stop it with the OVERS?" I practically yelled.   
  
"Sorry. Ov--humg."   
  
"Thank you. Listen, we have Literature last thing so why don't you just meet me after school and we'll keep tabs on him, okay?"   
  
Holmes paused. "Okay. Wait for me at your door in the morning."   
  
"For goodness sakes, why?" I said.   
  
Silence.   
  
"Hello?" I asked. "Why on earth would I wait for you?"   
  
"I don't want you to get hurt," Holmes said softly.   
  
I felt a rush of anger. "On my street? In broad daylight? And I can take care of myself, thanks. Over and out!" I slammed the walkie talkie down. Holmes never replied.   
  
"Who does he think he is?" I asked the girl in the mirror. ... Maybe he just cares about you, she said softly. "Yeah, right," I picked my book up again.   
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
  
  
"Now," Holmes whispered in my ear, "We can't let him know that anything is wrong. Act natural."   
  
"I know, I know, I know!" I said, just a little too loud. We stood looking at the door to Literature. "You open it," I said. Holmes reached out a trembling hand and we entered the room.   
  
All you kids out there who dread taking a test, or handing in a paper, or whatever, you've got it easy. Think about trying to go to class when you're fairly sure your teacher is a murderer. THAT takes GUTS.   
  
Trying to keep my knees from shaking I found my seat.   
  
"Good afternoon, class," Mr. Donnelley said, smiling. Was it just me, or was he staring at me? I gulped. "Please take out last night's homework."   
  
Oops. I didn't do my homework. But you know what? Sue me - the teacher's a murderer for crying out loud!!   
  
Mr. Donnelley went around with his gradebook, marking off names. He stopped at my desk. "Miss Watson?"   
  
"I -I don't have it," I said, without looking at his face.   
  
"That's okay," he patted my shoulder and I looked up. There was nothing but a mild sympathy on his face. "It happens to the best of us." He smiled gently and moved on.   
  
I looked at Holmes across the room. He seemed slightly puzzled too. I looked on with the kid who sat next to me as we corrected the homework, and then read the next chapter.   
  
Towards the end of class the loudspeaker cackled to attention. "Mr. Donnelley?" the nasaly secretary asked.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"Please send Sherlock Holmes to the dean's office." The loudspeaker died.   
  
Mr. Donnelley turned to Holmes "Got in trouble again?" Holmes blanched. "I'm just kidding," Mr. Donnelley said, smiling. "I'm sure it's nothing."   
  
Holmes bit his lip and looked at me as he gathered his books. He hesitated. "Go on!" I mouthed, making little "shoo" motions. "I'll be fine!" Holmes looked unsure, but he left.   
  
About a minute later, the bell rang. I got up to leave but found Mr. Donnelley standing in my way.   
  
"Miss Watson," he said gently. "I know you've been through a lot lately. I just want you to know you're always safe here at school. Are we friends, then?" he smiled and stuck out his hand.   
  
Over his shoulder I could see the bright hallway and freedom. I muttered something and put my hand in his, quickly. Get this over with and get out!!!!! my brain was screaming.   
  
Something sharp and hot bit into my hand. I gasped and pulled back. There was a blister, puffy and white on the palm of my hand. Slowly, it shrunk away to a pin prick of blood.   
  
I looked up. Mr. Donnelley had shut the door. Now he smiled - an evil, cold smile, and laid a tiny syringe on his desk.   
  
Fear started pounding every inch of me. I tried to scream but all that came out was a hoarse gasping.   
  
"A slow acting venom," Mr. Donnelley said, menacingly. "You should start feeling numb any minute now."   
  
Now I did scream. I threw myself at the door and yanked at it. Locked! "Holmes!" I screamed, as loud as I could.   
  
Mr. Donnelley wrapped one arm around my waist and put his other hand across my mouth. He pulled me away from the door.   
  
I gasped for breath and clawed desperately at his hands. My fingers were all tingly and I couldn't get a grip. I kicked back at his shins as hard as I could and tried to bite. Mr. Donnelley winced but held firm. Air... there wasn't enough air... I felt my arms go limp at my sides and my knees began to buckle. Still, I struggled against the iron grip.   
  
"Relax," Mr. Donnelley murmured in my ear, his voice soft and rumbling. I couldn't breathe, I felt myself falling... "Relax, and go to sleep," he said. "You'll make a lovely princess." 


	9. Fire

How could my eyelids feel so heavy? I struggled to open them, moaning. I tried to take a deep breath but choked on a piece of heavy cloth.   
  
"Ah, our little princess is awake..."  
  
I recognized that voice! That oily, terrifying voice... My eyes opened slowly. Everything was out of focus. I tried to move but found I couldn't.  
  
Slowly, the world around me became clear. Mr. Donnelley's face swam into view. I was in the warehouse, tied to a chair.  
  
Mr. Donnelley rubbed his hands. "Now," he turned to several of the people with black robes. "Hide. Young Mr. Holmes will be here any minute."  
  
I strained against the ropes. I was bait! I realized - bait for Holmes!  
  
For several minutes the warehouse stood in absolute silence. Then, without a sound, one of the windows far above my head eased open. I could tell by the sky outside it was late at night. "Holmes!" I yelled, but it came out as "nghhhh!"  
  
He heard me, unfolded a rope, and began climbing down it. "No!" I tried to say, "It's a trap." He didn't hear me, or couldn't tell what I said. I looked at the chair I was tied to. It was wooden...  
  
Struck with sudden inspiration, I strained to the right, then to the left. The chair began to rock. For one perilous second, it hovered on two legs, then smashed to the floor. The back of the chair cracked in two. The ropes loosened and I pulled the gag from my mouth. Holmes slid to the floor.   
  
"Holmes!" I yelled, my voice surprisingly coarse, "It's a trap! Get out of - nghh." Hands pulled back at me, cutting off my breath. Holmes gave a yell as he, too, was surrounded. He hit and punched and kicked... but there were too many swarming black robes...  
  
Somebody tied my hands in front of me and replaced the gag. Mr. Donnelley bound Holmes. "And now," he said, "We have some fun. Mr. Holmes, the cock-sure detective... helpless."  
  
"You - MONSTER!" Holmes yelled. "You have me, let her go!"  
  
"Oh, no... I've got plans for the two of you. I shall enjoy watching you... watching her... die."  
  
Holmes yelled - a pure rage that shook the windows above. "NEVER!"  
  
"Quiet!"  
  
"NO! I - "  
  
Mr. Donnelley turned and hit me across the head. I bit my cheek to keep from crying out. Holmes silenced, shaking with rage. Mr. Donnelley nodded to the black robes, and he led us all down the staircase in the floor.  
  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
  
There is nothing scarier than being held helpless. All my life I've detested those girls who swoon or giggle or play the part of damsel in distress just a little too well. And now, here I was, helpless.  
  
Mr. Donnelley had marched to the altar, chanting and lighting candles and incense.   
  
Helpless.  
  
I was totally...helpless.  
  
Hey! Wait a second - that was my only defense: being helpless. I met Holmes' eye and winked very slowly. Taking a deep breath, I let out a fake moan, and slumped against my captors. They chuckled, thinking I had fainted, and relaxed their grip on me. Slowly, trying to make any noise, I began to pick at the ropes.  
  
Before I could free myself, the black robes picked me up and brought Holmes and me forward to the altar. They pushed me to my knees and bent my upper body over the low black table. A single candle was lit under my face. Slowly, as the black robes began to chant, I held my hands over the flame. The fire licked the ropes, weakening them. I gritted my teeth as I felt the skin on my wrists blister. My hands began to shake but I held them firm. With a quiet snap! that couldn't be heard over the weird chanting, the ropes broke. I held still and prayed that Holmes was watching me.  
  
I held out three fingers. I saw the shadow of Mr. Donnelley in front of me.  
  
I held out two fingers. The shadow raised a sword.  
  
I held out one finger, then yelled and rolled away. The sword came crashing down where I had been a second before. Holmes had seen my signal and had kicked out at his captor. He ran the ropes that held him over one of the vicious swords. The ropes snapped, and he grabbed the blade.  
  
I kicked Mr. Donnelley in the stomach. Surprised, he fell backwards. I grabbed the first thing that came to my hand - a large candelabra. I held it above my head to stop the sword of yet another black robe. I slid the burning candles the length of the sword and thrust them into his face. He (she?) screamed and backed away.  
  
"Watson!" Holmes yelled, fending off another robe. I turned to run to him. Someone grabbed my ankle and I fell. I kicked, then turned and kicked again. Above me, another attacker raised a sword. A dish from the low table fell beside me, and I grabbed it and held it above me as a shield. The clang of metal on metal made my arms and teeth shake. Holmes cried out and leapt to defend me. He slashed at the robe with the stolen blade. I stood and hid behind him, still clutching the silver dish.   
  
Holmes held the sword out in front of him as we backed into a corner. Hundreds of black robes advanced, snarling, with their swords drawn.  
  
"Holmes," I whispered.   
  
"Sh!" he said, looking up towards the ceiling. I followed his gaze. A huge chandelier was suspended by a rope. The rope led down and was attached to the wall where we stood. "Hold tight!" Holmes yelled. I dropped the dish, grabbed the rope, and held on with all my might. With one hand, Holmes slashed out at the knot that held it.  
  
I thought my arms were being pulled out of my shoulders. I screamed as we rocketed skyward. With a sickening crash, the chandelier hit the floor below and we were hanging suspended, fifty feet above the ground. The rope swung towards the balcony and we jumped, cleared the low railing, slid along the floor, and then crashed into the wall.  
  
For a minute I thought my lungs had been torn out of my body. Then I shuddered and took a gasping breath, inhaling smoke and incense. The chandelier below had started to burn. Flames licked up the walls, melting the paint.  
  
Holmes and I scrambled to our feet and ran along the balcony - the door was on the other side of the room, which meant we had to run the length.  
  
The black robes started charging up the stairs, as much to avoid the raging fire as anything else. Mr. Donnelley was the first to get through the door. Then, with a sickening crash, the stairs leading to the balcony collapsed. Screams echoed off the burning walls.  
  
We ran for all we were worth. Suddenly, the boards gave way beneath Holmes' foot. He yelled and clutched at his leg. I put my arms around him and pulled. His foot came free but he couldn't run as fast. We were just about at the door when Mr. Donnelley reached us. Drawing a gun from his robes he cocked it and aimed...  
  
"Holmes!" I yelled, and pushed him away. Three shots rang out, and something white-hot seared across my arm. I gasped and clutched at my skin where the bullet had grazed. I looked up - Mr. Donnelley aimed the gun at my head and pulled the trigger.  
  
Click - click - clickclickclickclick. He was out of bullets! Snarling, he threw the gun away and drew his sword. Holmes stood and raised his own sword, ashen faced.   
  
"A duel to the death, then, Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Donnelley slashed at him once, twice. Holmes blocked both but stumbled backwards. It was obvious he couldn't win.  
  
The flames were inching closer. I seized part of the railing and tore it away - it was surprisingly flimsy. With shaking hands I held it in the nearest flame until it caught fire...  
  
Holmes stumbled again, and fell. Mr. Donnelley raised the sword...  
  
I stepped over my friend's body and smashed the railing against Mr. Donnelley's head. He screamed and stepped backwards. I dragged the wooden club in the other direction, sickened by the sound of sizzling flesh. Mr. Donnelley threw his hands up and leaned against the railing. It broke.  
  
For one split second he flailed horribly over the pit of fire. I dropped my weapon and instinctively reached out to him...  
  
With a scream, he fell backwards.  
  
Sobbing, realizing I had just killed a man, I helped Holmes up. The heat of the flames and the smoke was tearing into me. We stumbled out the door and began dragging ourselves up the stairs.   
  
The flames were inching closer, closer, closer...  
  
Holmes scrambled out of the hole in the warehouse floor, but I didn't think I could make it. The pain in my arm was overwhelming.   
  
I gasped and wheezed. Tears from the heat welled up in my eyes as I fell against the stairs. "Watson!" Holmes yelled. He put his arms around me and helped me stand. The flames were coming closer... I could feel the heat on my back...  
  
We burst through the warehouse door, gasping for breath. A cold wind whipped around my body and the torn shreds that used to be my clothing. The frigid November night stabbed into my lungs like a knife. With a groan, Holmes and I collapsed to the pavement.  
  
In the distance, I thought I heard sirens, but everything was going fuzzy at the edges. My eyes drooped and struggled for one last breath... Holmes took my hand as we both slipped away.  
  
  
  
The firemen told us later that they had to pry our fingers apart, one by one. 


	10. The Beginning

I moaned and turned my head to the side.  
  
What was that?  
  
Something wet hit my cheek and ran down my face. I opened my eyes slowly and realized what the wetness was. "Holmes," I whispered, very softly. He started and opened his eyes. I shifted, and a soft rustling of fabrics told me I was lying down.   
  
"Holmes," my voice was scratchy and almost inaudible. "You're crying."  
  
"I am not," Holmes rubbed his eyes violently. I smiled, winced at the pain, and then looked around. The soft white of the hospital was soothing, calming. My right arm was immobile - bent at the elbow and covered in a cast. I shifted in the soft bedclothes and looked back at Holmes. I noticed now that he had stitches over one eye, and crutches leaned against the chair where he sat.  
  
Holmes reached out and stroked my cheek, gently. "Watson," he whispered, his eye brimming with tears again. "I thought I'd lost you."  
  
Then he threaded both his hands into my hair, and bent forward.   
I closed my eyes and put my good arm around his neck.  
  
The kiss was swift, and awkward, but it left me dizzy all the same. When Holmes pulled away I sighed and fell back into the pillows.   
  
That's it, I thought, we've won.   
  
THE END.  
  
  
But somehow, I have a feeling this is only the beginning. 


End file.
